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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25343734">Succour</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fupette/pseuds/fupette'>fupette</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yellowstone (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous Relationships, F/M, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Manipulation, Revenge, Sibling Rivalry, Slow Burn, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:21:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25343734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fupette/pseuds/fupette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth finds herself injured with an unexpected personal caregiver tending to her recovery.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beth Dutton/Rip Wheeler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(Embarrassingly) English is my first language, all spellings and grammar issues are my own. My Irish spellings might annoy readers. I wish I had the gift of brevity (I don’t, so long tangent laden sentence abound), over generous use of punctuation (guilty as charged and badly deployed). I have a tendency to try to extend my vocabulary too.</p>
<p>Bad language sneaks into this story but I don’t think its gratuitous, if you already watch the show, this shouldn’t surprise you!</p>
<p>I root for Rip and Beth (oh my the chemistry!), but damn Josh Holloway has mad charisma. I have only started Season 3, not sure where that rollercoaster ride will take me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pain in her head made it hard to think. Even in her current stupor, she could feel her body ached for rest, wishing for a temporary respite to her general hurts and pains.  Beth found thinking clearly an exhausting struggle; the heart monitor beeped incessantly cutting through the silence of the unfamiliar room. The pounding noise was making it difficult to organise her thoughts. The harsh lights assaulted her senses as her squinting eyes fought their heavylidedness. The smell of antiseptic, the IV drip in her arm and the sparse utilitarianism of her hospital cot, made Beth uneasy.  </p>
<p><i>How did she get here and what in the fuckeddy-fricking hell happened?</i> </p>
<p>She was usually the tough-as-nails bitch, projecting a steely core full of cajones and cowboy grit, wrapped in layers of bravado and fortified with a bullheaded determination to never back-the-hell-down. All she felt now was meekness, her layers unravelling in uncertainty until all that was left was that little insecure weak girl (the hiding-in-a-barn little girl, sobbing uncontrollably about her dead mother and an ocean of guilt).</p>
<p>Despite her weariness she tried to remain alert, cataloguing her aches and pains as if they were crutches tethering her to reality. The soreness in her ribs and the left arm splinted to her side made her feel real, as if her pain had a life-affirming quality for someone who could not place the how and the why of their predicament. Maybe it was a concussion or maybe it was the IV that was dulling her senses, lulling her to succumb to the siren call of sleep. </p>
<p>Her mind seemed empty, remembering things felt exhausting but there was a certain muscle memory to fall back on and Beth Dutton was very much a doer. She rattled the bed railings with the pushing motion to get herself upright, before leveraging herself to a brief standing position. Fucking-wires Beth thought as her bambi-ed legs buckled beneath her before she had even managed a handful of steps forward. Her ungainly fall was compounded by the tangle of wires falling in her wake. The tumbled IV stand spilling fluid on the floor, while Beth’s uncooperative limbs couldn't be cajoled to move let alone carry her weight. The shrill wailing of her traitorous heart monitor assaulted her ears; the wires hanging forlornly against the bed. Beth grimaced the cavalry would surely come to her now, she couldn’t really compute why this irked her so viscerally, but her instincts screamed at her that whatever misguided fight she wished to wage was now fruitless as she had proven herself so weak and so broken, unable to even stand,  let alone make sense of her current circumstances.</p>
<p>“Oh, Freckles look what you’ve gone ’n’ done”. An unmistakable male drawl announced from the doorway, before its owner entered the previously private sanctum of her room</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Beth finds herself injured with an unexpected personal caregiver tending to her recovery.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A bit more slow-burny set-up. A very short bite-sized chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her body went rigid when he touched her. The man gathered her up tenderly from the floor, she could tell he was being overly careful of her splint and tender ribs. Beth made no move to stop him, knowing that any protestations would be ineffectual. She could feel his strength and power as he cradled her reverentially close to his chest. </p>
<p>“Now Beth” he admonished gently while lying her back onto the hospital bed. “You’ve been hurt and you are here to get better”.  He arranged the hospital gown down carefully around her, Beth in her confusion couldn’t tell if this was a caring or territorial gesture, her usually razor-like focus, blunted by tiredness. She was confused why this virtual stranger was cosseting her. </p>
<p>“Beth”, his insistence pulled her focus from her inner thoughts, “you’ve gotta stay put, little lady. Rest up, okay”. As he spoke, he reattached the heart monitor, but thankfully disabled the sound, he fiddled with the IV with a practised ease and then continued his multi-tasking by deftly pulling the bed covers up, cocooning Beth in their scratching polyester warmth or was it pinioning her more securely to the bed. </p>
<p>Too many thoughts, Beth grimaced. “Sweetie, are you listening?”, the man with the drawl asked but did not wait for an answer, as he gazed into her eyes. Maybe he was reading volumes into her morose expression. Suddenly he was flashing a penlight testing her pupils' responsiveness and commanded her to follow its bright and darting progress, she fought to follow the increasing list of instructions. They both could tell it was a losing battle, the penlight was was placed back into his pockets, freeing his hand to give her a consoling pat. “It’s okay, Freckles. You rest up, Dr Roarke is here, it’s all gonna be ok”.  </p>
<p>Beth fought the dangerous depths of sleep, expending her last energy reserves in a pyrrhic battle not to give her body the rest it so desperately craved. The last thing she could remember was a chaste (but very unprofessional) kiss being placed on her forehead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Another short chapter but this time some Rip (at least in spirit!)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Beth came too, she could feel a reassuring hand resting on her own, deft fingers stroking a back and forth metronome of comfort. As she fought the last vestiges of slumber she exhaled “Hmmmm….rrRip”. It was hard for her to imagine anyone taking care of her, but a reassuring squeeze of her hand told her, someone had been watching over her. “Hey, hey sush”, a low voice implored her, “no ripping out your IV again. Take it easy”.</p>
<p>Beth tried to still her growing unease, neither the soft hands or voice belonged to Rip. This man wasn’t a Dutton clan member either, she tried to place him as he continued to smile at her. Bringing out his penlight, he announced “Good, good” to the uninterested room, “I’m going to check your dressings now too”, carefully thumbing an errant lock from her face. Her bandages were checked carefully in their turn, after gentle fingers had prodded her hairline. “I’m gonna leave the wrapping on your ribs, but I’m gonna take a look at your arm”. With careful deliberative movements, he loosened the splint and lifted the gauze covering, “hmmm, good you didn’t rip the stitches”. He stated this mattarfactly, giving her uninjured arm another reassuring squeeze. </p>
<p>Beth felt queasy about the mollycoddling, but knew she needed to pick and choose her battles, she had so many questions, not least why she was inadvertently playing 'Doctor and Patient' with a goddamned fucking hedge fund manager. As Beth ordered her thoughts ready to demand answers to her ever-growing list of questions, she could see Roarke clicking some dials on the IV stand. The heaviness in her eyelids returned, “No…. I don’t…agh!, I want rrr” her words, like her thoughts jumbled in her drug-addled exhaustion. A soothing hand reached to smooth her hair, “Don’t fight it Freckles, rest up”. He could see her continued struggle against the drowsiness,  despite her determination to remain awake she melted into the soporific embrace of a chemical sleep. </p>
<p>Roarke enjoyed the unbidden moment, drinking in the sight of a becalmed Beth Dutton, resting almost child-like. The maelstrom of tension and caustic intensity that Beth uses to guard herself, was lost to the innocence of sleep. </p>
<p>“Sweet Dreams, Freckles”.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Another short chapter, mainly set up.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beth tried to keep track of the days, but the monotony of her routine and her general tiredness meant that each day bled into the next. Her wakeful periods were sometimes punctuated by Roarke’s presence, other times it was a dutiful nurse. She bristled with indignity when the nurse changed her catheter, her internal hot rage, cut through the fuzzy-edged stupor the tranquillisers had kept her in, but she couldn’t channel the indigent feelings to overcome the effects of the damned drugs. She remained unhappily prone in bed unable to vocalise her every growing list of questions and concerns. </p>
<p>She had mixed feelings about the bandage changes, at least they didn’t make her feel as helpless as the ablutions undertaken when she was semi-conscious, maybe it helped that she could see tangible progress with the splint no longer pinioning her arm or the rib wrappings becoming a little less constricting.</p>
<p>She tried to compartmentalise her emotions when she was given additional small kindnesses, not sure if she was comfortable when someone had loosely braided her long hair while she was passed-out or when she awoke to an impromptu reflexology massage from Roarke’s talented fingers. The damn IV drip kept her mainly subdued so she had plenty of time to dwell on events that strayed from the mundane existence in this solitary room. With no radio or tv, there was precious little to engage her mind on. That made each kindnesses a welcome distraction, even if they only served to reinforce her pervading feeling of helplessness. Beth knew she had spent a handful (if not more) days convalescing, her mind churned about where her family must be, surely she hadn’t slept through each of their visits, it was almost too painful to contemplate the reasons for their absence. As her world shrunk to the confines of her bed, it seemed easier to dwell on the minutia of her hospitalisation rather the thought that she had done something to be estranged from her own family or worse…from Rip</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Switching things up by including more of Roarke's pov. A longer chapter, not a lot of action but I'm trying!!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He liked to watch her, worryingly it was becoming one of his favourite pastimes. He figured he would no longer need the nurse’s help soon, as Beth seemed to be growing stronger, each day. Her head wound had healed up nicely, likewise her arm and ribs were progressing well. The nurse had given him the all clear, to reduce the medication in the IV drip. As an angler, Roarke had an abundance of patience, he was willing to take things slowly, he brimmed with joy, anticipating a time when his patient would be back to full health.</p>
<p>With a practised eye, he could tell Beth was nearing her first wakeful period, he smiled in anticipation, as he figured the curtailment of medication in the IV, would mean longer periods of lucidity. He studied her intently enjoying wrestle out of the liminal space between sleep and awake.</p><p>When Beth woke, for one blessed moment she didn’t immediately recognise her surroundings, she had become accustomed to the fuzzy-tinge that the drugs imbued upon her reality and it took a while to fight through this lethargy . Beth’s masochism welcomed the awareness of low level aches radiating through her body she didn’t like the doped up feeling the painkillers left her, she liked the old fashioned kind of painkillers - whiskey neat.</p>
<p>The smile on Roarke’s face cracked to a full-on grin, he watched his stoic patient, waiting for her to cast aside the last vestiges of sleep, before savouring their first interaction of the day. “Rise and shine, Freckles” he beamed, liking the thoughtful gaze that Beth returned in his direction. While Beth was mid-recovery he knew he had all the advantages but he knew he would need to employ all the patience he possessed not to gloat at this very pleasing reality.</p>
<p>For a few cautious moments Beths eyes roved the room, cataloging its size - pretty spacious, its window - maddeningly far away and no way for her to see out. She confirmed that nothing in her small world of this hospital room had changed while she slept. The medical equipment was still shiny and new, arrayed within an easy distance of her, bisecting the room between the hospital bed and the elusive door. No TV or radio adorned the walls, in fact the only other furniture of note was the bedside chair and table, both items unremarkable apart from the cowboy with the shit-eating grin sitting at full attention, elbows resting on the table unabashedly eying up her recuperating form.</p>
<p>“Where…?” Beth’s voice croaked out, raspy from disuse as she struggled to sit up. For the first time she could remember she felt more clearheaded. Roarke could almost feel the cogs whirring in Beth’s mind. Her eyes had briefly fallen shut, a treasonous reminder that her body was weak and her finite energy was a precious commodity sapped easily by trying to rise up. </p>
<p>Once she opened her eyes again, Roarke had closed the distance between bed and chair, with a quick adjustment to the angle of her bed, Beth found herself propped upright. It took a moment for Beth to recognise the glass proffered in front of her, she wished she could grab it from Roarke’s hand, but firstly - she didn’t trust herself; secondly she doubted Roarke would allow it. He looked deeply satisfied as he coached her 'take it easy' as she greedily gulped the refreshment on offer. The water was delicious, once her thirst was slaked Beth felt that she could test her voice again. “Where in the fuck…” Beth’s voiced cracked, the opening salvo of her would-be expletive laced  tirade fizzled along with her spirits as she felt how much energy vocalising her thoughts cost her.</p>
<p>“Husssh, you are ok. You are in a safe place now”. Roarke stated, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You are here to get better, I’m here to make sure that happens”. Beth felt helpless, it was in her nature to try and find some smugness or superiority in Roarke’s voice, it worried her that his words although straight-forward they were laced with patience and concern.  </p>
<p>“You got banged up pretty good. I was worried about concussion, you have a nasty cut on your hairline”, his featherlight fingers traced below the bandages, as he continued his cataloging. “Your shoulder was dislocated, I’m gonna put it in a sling. Your stitches are healing nicely”, he smiled benevolently, catching her free hand before she could pick at the angry stitches on her aching arm. “I was worried about your ribs too, but they seem ok”. Beth noticed as his conversational tone switched to a more serious voice, as he relayed his original worries about the bruising on her ribs and the cringingly embarrassing fact that until yesterday she was catheterised. Beth let the information flow over her, thankful that Roarke was fiddling with the promised sling. “I’ll take you to the bathroom, if you feel up to it, I just need to get your sling on first and disconnect your IV”. The thoughts of a bedpan chastened any inclination that Beth had to complain about her further mummification under a swaddling of additional bandages, she wanted desperately to reach the bathroom, further thankful of Roarke’s steadying arm despite their piteously slow pace.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Beth is slowly learning more about her current predicament.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a testament to how exhausting her brief sojourn in the bathroom was, that Beth could not summon the energy to press home more of her questions especially about her family and her location, on the return walk to her bed.</p>
<p>It had struck Beth that her current room was pretty spacious and generously equipped compared to any hospitals in Montana or Utah she had ever been in. The bathroom had been positively plush compared to what she had been expecting, a large shower and big bright mirror. Apart from Roarke and a random nurse she couldn't recall seeing any other person. Her sense of time was fuzzy at best but she could tell from her emaciated frame in the bathroom mirror that she had been convalescing for a substantial amount of time but her surroundings told her despite her injuries she was not doing this recovery in a hospital.</p>
<p>Her eyes had fallen shut as she tried to examine these troubling thoughts. Now that she was back in bed, she tried to tamp down her general feeling of uneasiness. She had seen daylight outside but the window blinds were closed. She could hear Roarke situate himself by the bedside chair. Beth’s damaged psyche made it crushingly hard for her to imagine someone taking care of her out of pure altruism. The calmness of Roarke disorientated her, she more accustomed to harsh words and cruel abrupt actions. The lost-little-girl part of her always craved this kind of simple comfort, the analytical part of Beth’s mind knew she should be getting her defences up, but with her energy almost sapped Beth indulged herself in the warmth of further sleep, she'd need to pick her battles.</p>
<p>A smile formed on Roarke’s face he liked watching her, it wasn’t as fun as the verbal sparring, but he liked the promising signs he’d seen today. “Forgive me Freckles, I’ll just make you more comfortable”, he was rewarded by her tired eyes flitting briefly open and meeting his own. While it was only a transitory look, he was enjoying her unguarded expression. He was pretty sure she never allowed anyone to see this, her frail human side.  He liked this unexpectedly calm and tranquil Beth with her safeguards down completely. Worried that his  actions might change this pleasant status quo, he narrated carefully the next steps he was taking, lowering the bed’s reclining angle, reinserting the IV back into the cannula.  He could tell she was fully asleep now, her deep even breaths apparent to his watchful eyes as he rearranged the blankets over her. He mused at how happy he would be if they both could stay like this forever. Placing his customary chaste kiss on her hairline, he briefly left the room to gather his laptop, he would begrudgingly catch up on some news and work, while Beth continued to recuperate.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Beth woke the next morning, she was unsurprised but not entirely unperturbed to see Roarke had maintained his bedside vigil. “Why are you helping me?” Beth whispered, the simplicity of her questions belied the many strands of uncertainty the answer might elucidate.</p>
<p>“I’m helping because I want to and because I can” his placating words were bolstered by the flashing of his million watt smile, as he further complimented his 'star patient'. </p>
<p>“Your only patient” Beth assiduously retorted. “My best and only patient” Roarke confirmed with a maddening nonchalance brushing off Beth's needling.</p>
<p>“Freckles, are you hungry?... Come on you need to eat, get your strength back” . Buttered toast was on offer and she pecked half-heartedly at the edges of the flaccid bread, racking her brains to recall happier memories from other meals, as a comfort to the strange incongruous situation she found herself in. A small smile flitted across her lips as her mind seized on memories of fried bread in Rip’s kitchen.  Her smiled thinned as she channeled her determination to get more answers, better answers, satisfying answers. </p>
<p>With trepidation Beth broached the pressing question of her family. The silence was growing uncomfortable, she broke eye contact with Roarke as her mind flashed to all kinds of worrying possibilities, she was determined to maintain her composure in front of this virtual stranger, but it was hard. “Are they ok?” her words telegraphed her deepest fears. ”Hey, hey it’s ok, we are all just worried about you and your recuperation”. He gave her a melancholic smile, knowing that he had not assuaged her worries, he wasn't confident that she wouldn't just see through his pitiful dodged response. With a pacifying squeeze of her hand he looked searchingly into her eyes. “Beth, you can trust me.  Please try not to worry”</p>
<p>Roarke moved the breakfast tray, briefly leaving the room, only to reappear with a sheepish smile. “Present-time!, I was hoping that you might enjoy a warm shower and fresh robe”. The nurse appeared from behind the door with a stool and bandages, heading straight into the bathroom, bypassing the conversing pair. “Ok, let’s get you up and the IV disconnected”, Roarke offered Beth his hand and in a pantomime of chivalry, escorted her to the bathroom . </p>
<p>“Listen, I’ll be waiting outside Freckles. Call me if you need anything but Carol will look after you real good” his solicitude made Beth feel dirty, at the moment she would have walked across hot coals to avoid Roarke, so a shower did seem like an amazing gift especially if she could escape his scrutiny for some private time. </p>
<p>Nurse Carol seemed to be the bad cop to Roarke’s good cop. Where Roarke used fawning concern, Carol was very much a professional, all business no lingering touches, much to Beth's relief. Once the patient was situated on the stool, Carol had quickly undone the hospital gown ties for her charge, easing the garment off while directing Beth to cradle her sore arm. “I’m going to put the sling back on Miss, but first I want to check on your ribs.”  Once relieved of the layers of bandages Beth grimaced at the kaleidoscope of bruises on display. <i>Had she been hit by a bus?.</i>  “Okay, Miss, hands on my shoulders please. I’m going to listen to your breathing”. Beth nodded her assent, as she steeled herself for the cold stethoscope. </p>
<p>“Does this hurt?”, Carol moved Beth’s arm testing its range of notion, not happy with the gingerly way Beth held her injured arm. <i> Hell Yes!. Fucking ow!</i> “No” Beth lied reflexively, “And you can call me Beth, besides I think we are about to reach fourth base”. Beth sardonic reply was meet by Carol’s arched eyebrow, her humour did not distract the nurse. “Ok, does this hurt... Beth?”. The repeat movement of her arm, sparked further tendrils of pain shooting from her shoulder. Beth nodded defeatedly, wounded by her vulnerability, but she could see Carol's disposition soften slightly towards her.  “Listen Beth, it’s ok you just need some time”, Carol sagely advised, “I need to put the sling back on and then we can talk about the logistics of showering”.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just a quick note, there are a few mentions of violence in this chapter (both actual and imagined). Also there is more swearing, especially when representing Beth's thoughts in the story.</p>
<p>In this chapter a bit of action happens, so I kinda view this as getting to the burn part of this slow-burn story.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beth painstakingly showered herself, seated on the stool using the tiled wall to keep herself erect. One-handed she sluiced water over her sore ribs, careful not to jostle her abused shoulder. The warm water and the semi-privacy of the shower cubicle gave Beth a welcome morale boost. Beth luxuriated under the hot water, enjoying bodily autonomy, as she continued to try to make sense of her current predicament. She could have easily stayed in the shower all day but Beth had psyched herself up to at least press Carol for some answers, answers might be more forthcoming while she was away from Roarke’s watchful eyes.</p>
<p>* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </p>
<p>Drying herself was not something Beth could accomplish one handed, ordinarily she would have brazened this out, as she was no stranger to parading around in her birthday suit. She figured a sure way of earning some brownie points with Carol would be to allow her to ostensibly do her job and if she managed to wheedle some information from the nurse all the better. </p>
<p>Beth allowed herself to be towel dried and have her ribs re-bandaged, Carol slicked wet hair back into a loose ponytail, allowing her to access the remaining bandage on Beth’s head. “Em Carol, where exactly are we?”, Beth felt foolish for her question as Carol suddenly turned her attention back to Beth’s head, hunting for previously unidentified injuries. As Beth continued to comply with Carol’s instructions, following the slow progress of the nurses finger tracing a back and forth path, she pressed her question once again, hoping this time for some clarity.</p>
<p>“Beth, you are home ”, Carol spoke slowly and evenly as if addressing a simpleton, “you’ve been up now for a while... you are still healing and maybe a little overtired. You need to give yourself a break”. Beth’s follow-on questions were quashed by Carol’s silencing finger. “Stay there, Beth I’ll get you those clean bedclothes”</p>
<p>Roarke’s home, motherfucker, why did this make such perverse sense, Beth bristled. She could hear some faint conversation from the main room. Beth remembered the advise her Daddy had given her previously, that she should fight everyone, but she knew she was not in full fighting form yet. She allowed the returning Carol to wrap the satin robe around her, it felt oddly similar to the robes she had in her real home at the Dutton Ranch. It was this small reminder of home that pushed Beth over the edge, wounded or not she needed to fight for herself and her family.</p>
<p>* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </p>
<p>Roarke inhaled sharply when he saw her, appreciating the sight of her in the robe with wet tousled hair. She looked less of a patient now. He had taken the liberty of making her bed more comfortable with fresh pillows and a quilted comforter, thinking a few home comforts might soften the room. His hopes that some pampering might have likewise softened Beth were dashed, he could tell her hackles were up. Her expression guarded to the world, ready for a fight, he could sense her anger from the other side of the room.</p>
<p>Beth had engaged her ‘bitch mode’, she positively hummed with rage as she left the bathroom, leaving Carol in her wake to dispose of the old clothes and bandages. She scanned her surroundings with an appraising eye, looking for any opening or weakness to exploit.</p>
<p>Window, Door, Roarke, Bed she was not blessed with options. The metal cloche on the table might give a pleasing crushing sound if swung at Roarke-bloody-Morris’s face, she fantasised about her man-beating ashtray in her office, how she longed to have a half-decent weapon, but she wasn’t going to let this fact stop her. </p>
<p>Beth’s default setting was always to add fuel to every fire, it felt pleasing to bury her knee into Roarke’s unsuspecting crotch, one handed she flailed to connect some good punches or smacks on Roarke’s stupid insipid face.  She didn’t like how easily she had been corralled into his arms, her slaps and kicks ineffectual, she felt a sharp sting to the back of her neck, before crumbing into a boneless heap still supported only by Roarke’s strong hands, she was thoroughly and utterly subdued </p>
<p>Roarke had arranged her back on the bed gently, for Beth it was like an out of body experience, she could feel and hear everything around her, it was just her traitorous eyes that refused to open and her listless limbs that failed to follow her commands. She listened to Roarke and Carol debrief, sulking at the unfairness that she was outnumbered and outmatched in her injured state. Roarke played the part of a concerned caregiver, while subtly dropping hints about Beths emotional instability. One pair of hands fiddled with the IV cannula and further adjusted Beth’s IV drip ensuring the flow of mind-numbing drugs. Simultaneously, the larger pair of hands plaited her wet hair. Beth was beginning to lose the main thrust of her caretaker’s conversation, the tranquilliser pulling her fully towards the oblivion of a drugged sleep.  When Carol mentioned Mrs Morris, Beth was relieved her heart monitor wasn’t attached to record several missed heartbeats. Adrenaline flooded into her system, giving her a burst of energy to fight the sedative's effects. </p>
<p>
  <i>Had that creep Roarke, ‘Bertha-Masoned’* some other poor woman, could she possibly have a potential ally imprisoned here too?</i>
</p>
<p>Roarke sat at Beth’s bedside, chewing mechanically on the plate of food he made for Beth, deep in thought about what his next moves should be.  From the impromptu conversation with Carol, it seemed she had let slip their location, the silly bitch had erased his hard won progress with Beth. Evidently the patient had taken the news hard that she was not in Bozeman anymore. It reinforced Roarke's decision that he needed to keep Beth in the dark as much as possible, until she was ready to accept her new role in life. Roarke chided himself for relying on external help, glad that although he had the patience of an angler to apply to his precious Beth, he had the dispassion of a financier to know that he no longer wanted or needed Carol’s services. Roarke was going to redouble his efforts moulding Beth to his whims and tastes. He realised this was better achieved in complete isolation, he needed to be able to control not only the environment surrounding Beth, but also the people she could interact with and the information he was prepared to share with her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>--//-- * Bertha Mason is a character from Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, essentially a "crazy woman" locked up in an attic.... I'm trying not to get spoiler-y in case people haven't read the book. Sorry to have verbed a name, but I'm hoping the inference is clear that Beth can totally conceive that in this world, story-Roarke is the type of person who could imprison someone in a room against their will and allow that person to descend into madness. Ironically this is close to the first-hand experience that story-Beth is receiving here --//--</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beth woke slowly taking in the relative comfort of her surroundings. Her loose robe and quilted blanket looked so reassuringly like her own. A small part of her mind was willing to accept that they might be her own. The original antiseptic smell of the room was overpowered by the smell of cooking. Her duplicitous stomach rumbled dwelling on the lost meal under the mysterious cloche last evening, but Roarke and the food were nowhere in sight now. </p>
<p>Beth ripped out her drip, she was keen to use her unexpected privacy to explore the room without prying eyes. Beth made short work of this, the lack of a phone meant she couldn’t just call for help and she couldn’t see anything that would work as a weapon. Sneaking over to the window, she was flummoxed as she surveyed a vista entirely devoid of familiar mountains. <i>What in the fresh fuckedy hell? Where the fuck was she?</i></p>
<p>“Freckles, breakfast is ready”. Oh shit!, Beth cringed, Roarke knew that she was awake and potentially he might know she was up. Bloody bastard, she thought worrying that he could have cameras in her room. Tentatively Beth opened the door of her gilded prison, noting the unused deadbolt on the outside. She reasoned that while Roarke was beckoning her, she should take this opportunity to explore more of her surroundings (scope out her prison).</p>
<p>Of course a moneyed douche like Roarke would have the obligatory catalogue perfect home. Beth seethed, stricken by the succession of surprises since she found herself convalescing in this strange place, first her presence in Roarke’s house and then the realisation she was no longer in Bozeman. The next shock was more pernicious and shook Beth to her core; pictures of her hung from the walls making a surreal mockery of what Beth understood as reality. Each fresh smiling photo hurt Beth’s head, weakening her sense of self, but it was the last smiling photo which tormented Beth to the depths of her soul. A beaming Beth coupled arm-in-arm with a smiling Roarke. Beth just could not make sense of what her eyes were seeing. Despite her hedonistic lifestyle of drink and one-night stands she’d never been or would be emotionally promiscuous, Rip was the only person she could trust to show her vulnerability and relax with. <i>What the hell was Roarke playing at?</i></p>
<p>After collecting herself, Beth continued her journey stepping into the chef-style kitchen and over to the big-ass dining table, her body running on autopilot, as the strange revelation of those photos fulminated in her mind. While deep in her heart she knew they were merely lies, it was still jarring to be confronted by such incongruous photographs.  </p>
<p>Beth shimmied to sit on the chair that Roarke gestured she take, careful not to jostle her shoulder, while Roarke grabbed two plates of food. The waffles and fruit on her plate were cut considerately into delicate bite-sized morsels, obviating her need for anything other than the provided fork. Beth thought darkly this was as much to deprive her of a knife, then consideration about how her slinged arm robbed her of the ability to perform such mundane tasks. Clearly Roarke was not happy with the altercation last night. Beth looked plaintively at Roarke’s plate, similarly laden with waffles, fruit but with the bonus bacon Beth had detected frying from her hospital room. <i>Was this Roarke’s petty punishment?</i></p>
<p>Roarke incessant jabbering, accompanied each plodding bite of food Beth hefted into her mouth, Roarke seemed to be determined not to give Beth the opportunity to discuss last night. After rhapsodising on Beth’s healing to date, he casually mentioned today was Carol’s last day as he crunched into his bacon, while priming Beth for her last check up with Carol.  Beth knew it was time to keep her game face on, with the nurse's impending departure, maybe her odds were about to improve.</p>
<p>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * </p>
<p>Carol arrived without ceremony for Beth's check up. The affair was perfunctory at best, she was too absorbed in exchanging pleasantries with Roarke about the next family her nursing agency had placed her with, to engage meaningfully with the injured Beth. Carol did not seem perplexed by Beth's confusion last night, and presently she didn't even notice Beth’s askew cannula. Having jolted it out of place while removing the IV earlier, Beth would have liked for it to be fixed properly, but she was not going to take any chance to give Carol an excuse to linger.  Beth focused her mind on projecting health and happiness, while Carol jangled her screaming shoulder, in a disinterested test, checking if her range of movement had improved. Beth would not give the nurse any excuse to find fault, with Carol’s imminent departure,  there would be one less pair of eyes while she worked on an escape.  Beth would even condescend to sit in this fugly room listening to banal chit-chat, surrounded by Roarke’s trout torture apparatus (fishing gear) and a scattering of simpering couple photos with her own stupid face mocking her, if it brought her fractionally close to escape it would be worth it. Beth resigned herself that this passivity was needed, she'd endure it if it would make it easier for her to extricate herself from her current predicament.</p>
<p>Beth felt like each excruciating minute with Roarke and Carol was lasting an eternity, she was finding it hard to keep her rage in check, daydreaming about smashing the garish room to smithereens. Thankfully she could tell the insipid conversation was coming to an end, as Roarke passed Carol a thick (no doubt cash-filled) envelope. As Carol finally gathered her belonging to leave, Roarke made gestures to shepherd her out. Beth filed away the fact that the far door was a step closer to freedom, integrating this precious tidbit into the mental map she was forming of Roarke’s home. She willed Roarke to continue his chivvying of Carol towards the door and ultimately leaving, she wanted Roarke distracted so she could further her escape plans.  </p>
<p>Beth’s plotting crashed to a halt when she heard Carol’s final remark: “You are so lucky to have landed this one” Carol chuckled softly amused by her dimwitted fishing pun, returning Roarke’s beaming smile, “Get well soon, Mrs Norris, oh sorry, I mean Beth”. </p>
<p>Beth was rooted to the spot hearing the nurses tittering voice fade as she was escorted out. Beth was dumbstruck, unable to follow through with the preparatory steps in her escape plans, despite Roarke and Carol obligingly disappearing through the far door as she had planned. Why in the fresh-fucking-hell was she being referred to as Mrs-Bloody-Norris. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>//--// Notes: Ok so stating the obvious, no one else is in the house now, just Beth and Roarke. It would seem Roarke is passing Beth off as his partner to other people and if given the chance would start more actively gaslighting Beth. Story-wise I'm laying it on thick and heavy that story-Roarke is not a good or trustworthy person, also as implied in their breakfast interactions Roarke is not as simpatico with Beth, when compared to tv scenes of Beth and Rip enjoying breakfast . //--//</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beth cracked, she could no longer hold in the rage she felt, “Where are they, where the fuck are my family you absolute bastard!” she yelled tossing a particularly fawning picture of herself towards the returning Roarke, the smashing sound and the halo of glass shards, buoyed Beth’s spirits, she was not going to be gaslit by some dumb yokel pretending to be her husband. She was going to fight back, despite the sheer futility of these actions, she would fight as long as she had breath in her lungs. </p>
<p> Roarke was over to her with a speed and strength that Beth had sorely underestimated. Hugging Beth tight to his chest, in spite of her continued struggles. “You are my family Beth, you’ve got stop fighting me” was his only reply. “But I don’t want you, I don’t lo…”, her whispered words, died in her mouth, as she felt the familiar prick of a needle and the accompanying darkness. </p>
<p>Beth, had been let down by a lot of people in her life, she could include herself in that number, but she knew in the deepest marrow of her bones, that Rip would fight the entire world to get her back. She just knew he would be looking for her, coming for her, she just had to hold on to that hope. He was always rescuing her, reminding her that there was goodness behind her own tough facade.  All Beth’s life people had wanted things from her and things of her. Each person taking bits of her along the way. Her mother had taken her innocence, insisting she live up to an impossible standard; then her death robbed her of her remaining childhood. Her father’s neglect had taken a sizeable piece of her self-worth and he took a sledge-hammer to her self-respect when he weaponised her intellectual gifts. Her work and her clients continued to chip away at that self-respect, the natural outcome of working for greedy people. Her brothers by actions and omissions had further undermined the foundations of her psyche, leaving Beth a vulnerable shell. Granted she could put on a brave face but ultimately she was a sensitive broken soul. Rip was the only person to give to Beth unconditionally, she knew he loved her, he kept turning up for her through thick and thin. She clasped onto that thought, she could not let Roarke take Rip from her, he was the best and safest thing in her life and she knew she had to fight for herself, it would be what Rip would do if he was with her.</p>
<p>*********************************************************************************************** </p>
<p>When Beth woke, she was back in the hospital bed. For all Roarke’s faux concern he was disturbingly quick to solve every problem by drugging her. Beth knew she could never respect, not least love a man who had a desire so strong to control her that he’d take away her autonomy and rely on drugs to keep her pliant. In true megalomanic fashion, Roarke couldn’t help monologue once he noticed his audience of one was walking up. </p>
<p>“Hey there Freckles, it seems like you are getting a little too feisty on me,  with all this silly fighting” he smiled intoxicated by the power he felt over Beth, “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the foreplay but if you are going to fight me, just know that I always win”. His triumphant smirk sickened Beth. “Beth baby, I’m going to show you how good we are together, you will learn to appreciate me, in time. Heck you are going to learn how to appreciate us”. He had already invaded her space, stroking her hair in a parody of affection, his words laying clear that his avarice would not be sated until he took her body and mind. </p>
<p>Roarke continued his gloating even when he found Beth unwilling to engage in conversation. “Well Freckles, your histrionics are badly timed, with the Carol gone, I’ll need to get more sedatives. I knew you’d be a handful, but I don’t want to tie you up just yet”. Beth flinched as she could see Roarke’s hungry stare, as the implications of his ‘joke’ lingered menacingly in the air. “Hmmm, seems like the sedatives are wearing off”, he mused casually retrieving an IV bag connecting it to the cannula in her arm, “just some tranquillisers, to keep you calm, while I go sort things out with the pharmacy” He inhaled her scent deeply, as he planted another kiss on her unresponsive head.</p>
<p>Beth stayed stock-still, holding her breath while trying to discern the noises outside, trying to pick up hints if Roarke was still at home. Beth’s movements were slow and tentative, careful not to make any noise. Roarke for all his braggadocio failed to notice that Beth had dislodged the IV needle from her arm in her yesterday’s foray from bed and inattentive Carol had never noticed it either. She had felt the cool liquid drip harmlessly from her arm, when Roarke had connected her cannula to a fresh IV. The evidence of the escaping tranquilliser was absorbed by her long satin robe, the dislodged needle no longer making clean contact in her arm.  Beth had played possum particularly convincingly with the deadening efficiency of someone how had become frighteningly accustomed to the situation she was mimicking.</p>
<p>Her heart swelled as she could hear the front door closing, she knew she had to act quick, this was her best and perhaps only chance to get free. Creeping down the hallway, Beth made a beeline out towards the door, rationalising that she needed to get to safety, which would be anywhere except here. She didn’t care about the glass shard she had trod on, in her haste to make good her escape, her wild bedraggled appearance or her painful shoulder and forgotten sling. Escape was all that mattered. </p>
<p>The first breath of fresh air when she crossed the threshold of the house was like manna from heaven. It was time to go home to Rip.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>//--// An ending of sorts.  Sorry if it is abrupt. I'm leaving some wiggle room as theorectically I could write some more chapters. Thanks to everyone who has read the story and persevered so far  //--//</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As she passed the door jamb, Beth found herself surrounded by pristine countryside, Rip might almost have called it wilderness. It was a beautiful sight, the only blight, as far the eye could see, was Roarke’s douche-y McMansion. If Beth didn’t have the urgent need to escape she’d have burnt that mother-fucking house down, in spite of its proximity to a forebodingly forest. </p>
<p>Beth effected her escape with the minimum of fuss, despite not being a cowboy she has an intrinsic understanding of her surroundings. She knew Roarke would live near a river for fishing, she just needed to find it and follow it towards civilisation or at least someone with a cellphone. The woods would act as cover, she was not fully confident that her head-start would be sufficient. She was not going to linger and make things easy for Roarke, if he planned to follow her, the woods would at least make things difficult for her would-be chaser.</p>
<p>The going was not easy on Beth’s feet, scrambling onwards through the woods, she was woefully underdressed; her light wrap a limp barrier to the frigid cold. Her lack of boots slowed her painful progress over the wooded undergrowth. She concentrated on the cold rather than the sharp stabbing pains of twiggy-ground underfoot. She navigated the small slope downwards towards the river each step was painstakingly slow, finding that her balance while shoeless and principally one-handed was hard, fuelling her further rage at this entire situation. <i>Fucking kidnapping, fucking kidnapper why wouldn’t people leave her the fuck alone.</i></p>
<p>***************************************************************************************</p>
<p>With an absorbed concentration Beth continued her hike downstream. Mechanically placing one foot in front of the other, the pain of her bloodied abused feet stabbing at the hypothermic stupor that would otherwise have lulled her to an exhausted collapse. She couldn’t fathom how many miles her trudging escape had covered, she had no way of knowing if she’d put enough distance between herself and Roarke’s house, but with the movement of the sun she could tell that evening would swiftly turn to nighttime. She needed a plan.</p>
<p>Tiredness feed into Beth’s indecision, should she continue her progress along the river, in the hopes of stumbling upon a shack or settlement, gambling that she wouldn’t run into any bears or wolves in the looming dark. Conversely should she cut her losses and try to flag down an unsuspecting truck or car on the road, again hoping that she wouldn’t have the misfortunate of meeting a different kind of predator.</p>
<p>Beth waited roadside for an interminable time, her lack of motion fired the splintering pain in the soles of her feet. She’d assumed that the cold had worn her nerves into a numbed submission, but she was not that lucky. She could cry with despair now that her feet resembled Gator’s meat patties, distressingly red and raw. She picked at the grit and gravel, trying to concentrate on removing jumble of pointy detritus embedded on her feet, a distraction from her lonely and so-far fruitless  roadside vigil.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The absence of the moon made the night as dark as pitch, from her current vantage point Beth could see headlights in the distance. She prayed to a god she didn’t believe in for some good luck; not wanting to stay out in the cold and dark any longer then necessary.</p>
<p>Squinting her eyes, she tried to distinguish the incoming vehicle’s profile and colour, trying hard to remember Roarke’s car. She could see the dark outline of a pickup truck behind the high-beam lights. Her heart soared, this wasn’t Roarke’s car.  <i>Surely the car’s occupants would help her out.</i>. Throwing caution to the wind, Beth flagged the car down with a desperate haste, hardly waiting for the car to slow to a stop. She made a beeline to the car door keen to plead her case with the driver behind the tinted glass. In her haste, Beth didn’t see the stylised yellow ‘Y’ emblazoned on the car door.</p>
<p>A wave of relief passed over Beth when she could see a dark haired man that was definitely not fucking Roarke. It took her a brief moment to register the car’s occupant as Jamie Dutton dressed not in his trademark suit but in his hunting gear. Before Beth could address the incongruity of her older brother’s appearance, he slammed her head against the car, using a fistful of her hair to leverage her head up and repeatedly down, bouncing her temple over and over again. With one good hand she could not effectively protect her head, she flailed at Jamie’s arm hoping to loosen his grip, but it was a losing battle.</p>
<p> Once Jamie thought she was essentially subdued, he bundled her into the back footwell of his truck. In the twilight of consciousness Beth could hear Jamie mutter about her ruining his bumper payday with Roarke as he immobilised her with some freshly cut rope, not caring that she’d landed on her sore shoulder. “If you fucking speak, I will gut you right here right now”, he hissed menacingly “don’t fucking tempt me, you know I’d enjoy doing it and it would have the added benefit of screwing with our pathetic father.” Beth could feel his hot-spittle breath hissing into her ear, “Christ knows what Roarke wants with a fucking harpy like you, but at $10,000 an acre, who cares, he can have you… he can have the rest of my worthless family too, he can have it all.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The car journey was agony for Beth’s sore shoulder, each bump or turn sending hot tendrils of pain radiating from her abused left side. She couldn’t manoeuvre herself upwards to protect herself from further jolts on the windy country road. She could imagine the malevolent pleasure Jamie was deriving as each bend inflicted more and more pain. </p>
<p>Beth’s rational mind was trying hard to piece together each new piece of information, Jamie’s selfish motive was as self evident as a cartoon character with dollar signs in its eyes. Jamie getting rid of her as the Dutton Trust executor made sense too, to expedite the ranch’s sale. Was Roarke’s infatuation with her the only reason why she wasn’t currently laying dead in a ditch by Jamie’s hands?</p>
<p>She felt the car slow to a low rumble on a gravel path, she knew she’d be reunited with Roarke imminently. Steeling herself for a fight, if she could get Jamie’s keys she could make a permanent escape. As Jamie reached into the backseat to lift her prone form, her bloody feet connected with a satisfying thwacking noise as the kick landed square on Jamie’s chest causing him to stumble backwards. </p>
<p>With her hands roped together, Beth swung them full force at Jamie’s head, the ricocheting pain in her shoulder a small price to pay now that she had knocked Jamie on his sorry ass.  Struggling back into Jamie’s car, she shut the driver's door and dove towards the glove compartment in the hopes she could find something she could use as a weapon. She could see Jamie fuming as he strode towards the car in a blind rage. Beth fumbled despairingly for a spare key in the car’s visor, her movements becoming more panicked as Jamie stood smirking the spare keys dangling teasingly in his hands,  the underlying menace glinting in his eyes made Beth feel like prey in front of a predator. </p>
<p>The passenger-side door opened, catching Beth unaware, her focus had been completely on Jamie's menace. Fucking-Roarke now had her outnumbered. Beth tried to pivot and again she lashed out with her legs hoping to keep Roarke at bay. Beth heard a satisfying crashing noise, but she knew it wasn’t accompanying any impact from her own wild kicks. The glass showering around her presaged the blow from behind that knocked her unconscious. </p>
<p>“Holy shit Jamie, I thought we agreed Beth is mine, it’s part of the deal”. Roarke in an overt display of affection cradled Beth’s unconscious form. He cuddled her limp body once he extracted her from the car; one hand pressed possessively along her spine, the other hand picking stray glass pieces from her hair. Wrapping her tenderly in his jacket to imbue some heat back into her shivering frame. He kept his reproving gaze on Jamie while berating him on his wanton violence after knocking his sister out .  “The crazy bitch did half of this to herself” Jamie shot back, parodying Roarke’s action by surveying his own bloodied hand and picking at the glass from his jacket sleeve. </p>
<p>“Jamie you have 50 million reasons to behave. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want you upsetting your sister. You can clean up in the spare room, you’ll find all the medical supplies you could possibly need there. It's late, there is no point heading back to Bozeman now”,  Roarke spoke with cool detachment “I’ll be in my room with Beth, do not disturb us. We can close out the deal tomorrow, in the meantime I need to mop up your mess”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roarke surveyed Beth, she looked tiny in his four poster bed. The stiff leather cuffs were a stark contrast to her light skin, he bristled at the angry rope burns from where Jamie had bound her hands. Even in a peaceful slumber she was wild looking, the patina of dirt and mud had caked her flimsy wrap, her split lip and her halo of dirty hair marred the otherwise tranquil sight. Streaks of blood stained the bedsheets where bloodied feet rested on Egyptian cotton. As she was tied up, he knew she wasn’t going anywhere or critically do herself further harm, he couldn’t help but enjoy his power over her. <i>What was it about this woman, that made him mad with desire?</i></p>
<p>“What are you doing Roarke, you can’t be this dumb”, she couldn’t keep the frustration from her tired words, despite her battered appearance she was ready to verbal spar now that injury and confinement robbed her of any physical action.  “Do you have to tie up all the women in your life?” Beth continued to needle him cursing and swearing in equal measure, rattling her cuffed hands for dramatic effect. Roarke continued to ignore her jibes, choosing to wield his continued silence as a weapon, allowing Beth to expend her energy fruitlessly, while he readied his first aid supplies.</p>
<p>“Why me?” she asked finally. The simple question betrayed Beth’s brave facade, it wasn’t the acceptance or surrender Roarke was hoping for, but it did presage a potential lowering of Beth’s resolute defences. Her display of weakness pleased him and he fought not to show it. Maybe pyscho-Jamie’s appearance had changed the dynamic in his favour. He would double down on his caregiving, hoping his solicitude, would further weaken his captive’s resistance; if that carrot didn’t work, he reckoned he now had the threat of Jamie to use as a pretty effective stick.</p>
<p>“There will be time for answers later, I’m going to debride your feet, I don’t want them getting infected”  Roarke calmly informed her. “I can give you something for the pain, would you like that?” gesturing toward the unknown pill bottle on the bedside locker. Beth noted Roarke’s possessive tone, but was glad to be given a choice, she shook her head, not wanting to feel the detached loopiness of her earlier stay. “Are you sure?” Roarke laid into his caring routine hard. Beth hated his absolute power over her, as she nodded her assent for treatment to begin without pain-relief, not willing to give Roarke an inch in this battle of wills.   </p>
<p>Roarke carefully wiped away the crusted blood from the soles of Beth’s feet, his cloth turning a deep red. He felt Beth growing progressively more tense, as he picked gravel and other detritus from her abused feet. He worked until he could no longer ignore the sizeable shard of glass embedded into a particularly nasty gash on the heel of Beth’s foot. “This is going to hurt”, he warned his patient, her clenched fists and closed eyes told him she was already expecting the worst. Roarke extracted the glass in a swift motion, trying not to flinch as Beth’s guttural scream filled the room. Mindless of her restraints Beth had lunged forward in a reflexive motion to stop the pain, causing further damage to her injured shoulder, she now slumped back in the bed feeling utterly defeated.</p>
<p>After the initial washing of her feet, Roarke continued to diligently apply antiseptic and then wrapped bandages over Beth’s feet. He made no comment as he wiped the tears tenderly from her eyes as he tended to her cut lip. Beth lay impassively in situ, allowing Roarke to continue the medical ministrations, leaving her to ruminate on her plight.</p>
<p>“I’m going to remove the bindings, but I’m warning you any funny business and you get to bunk with Jamie”  Roarke was intent on wielding kindness as a cudgel chipping away at Beth’s hard edges but he recognised the threat of her brother was a useful tool that would only cast himself in a good light. He could be her protector, if she’d let him.</p>
<p>Beth was savvy enough to recognise the emotional manipulation taking place, rationally she knew Roarke was the ringleader here, ultimately responsible for her continued incarceration, but after a tumultuous few days she was finding it hard to keep battling against the insidious offer of safety and kindness that Roarke appeared to be offering. Roarke recognised her lack of fight, as he removed the cuffs binding her to the headboard. Beth’s pained whimper at this fresh motion, indicated strongly that her shoulder was dislocated. Roarke weighed the pros and cons of seeking medical attention, but decided that would only be appropriate reward if Beth proved herself to be biddable  He would need to press home his advantages while he had Beth in a weakened state, he would teach her how to be  amenable to his charms.  </p>
<p>Roarke tucked Beth under a warm duvet,  hoping the warmth would help relax. He was frustrated that she wasn’t enthused by her new bedclothes or his wrangling her messy hair into a loose braid, it rankled him that despite her obvious exhaustion she was still taut with tension, despite all the tenderness he had shown her recently. “Freckles, I want you to get some sleep”. Beth frowned but closed her eyes as commanded. Roarke absentmindedly counted the freckles on Beth’s face enjoying the intimacy of their alone time, only wishing that Beth would relax. He could have watched her all night, fighting a brave battle against sleep, but he decided rest and relaxation, would be preferable.  After some cajoling, Beth took the sedative at Roarke’s insistence, chased with a small drink of water before the drugged oblivion of Roarke's pill offered her an artificial escape from her reality. </p>
<p>Roarke lay over the covers, next to the slumbering form of Beth. He enjoyed the proximity, glad that the tension had melted away in her serene sleep, he draped a hand on her stomach, grateful that in Beth’s condition she wouldn’t flinch  away from his touch, after this supremely stressful day Roarke enjoyed the simple domesticity of this scene. He couldn't help himself any longer, he snuggled closer to his resting captive's insensate form, indulging in a quick selfie with his patient, he would enjoy taking more pictures and making more memories with Beth for the foreseeable future. He might even frame this new photo to allow Beth to enjoy this shared moment. He smirked as he reflected on his newfound sense of power and purpose</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beth woke pinioned to the bed, the weight of Roarke’s sleeping frame kept the bedclothes cocooned tight around her. She didn’t like the possessive arm draped over her mid-rift. As an early riser Rip  would normally be up before her, so it was odd to be awake and sharing a bed with this deranged stranger.  </p>
<p>Beth’s head was pounding, the sedative nightcap had only taken the edge of her raging headache, she fantasised about revenge for Jamie’s violent actions to placate her nerves. Beth reasoned that a coincidental clearheadedness must be an outcome of her debauched lifestyle, evidently her high tolerance for drugs and alcohol was something Roarke had underestimated too. She examined her current prison, hoping for a weapon but found none, the pill bottle was over on Roarke’s side and she could only mange small mincing actions with her painful left side and the madman she wasn't keen to awaken. </p>
<p>She was ready to continue wallowing in self-pity, when her heart skipped a beat as she spied a shiny phone peaking between the crevice in the duvet between their two bodies.Beth awkwardly manoeuvred to get the phone, cursing as the telltale rumble told her that the facial recognition software would not open using Roarke’s sleeping face. She fumbled around for a passcode, her stomach sunk on the third attempt when she realised her own birthday was the key. </p>
<p>She felt bile rise in the back of her throat as she saw the picture Roarke had opened last, she recognised her own sleeping form nestled into her captor’s larger frame. <i>Fucking Psycho!</i></p>
<p>The metadata on the offending photograph pinpointed her location to Wolf Point, Montana she cursed inwardly that she was located several hours away from Bozeman. Rip was the only number she knew off by heart, she sent a brief text message without a second thought</p>
<p>                Help! Wolf Point with Roarke - Wifey xxx</p>
<p>She hoped Rip would fill in the many gaps in the message, but knowing she couldn’t dawdle, she deleted the terse message, expecting that Rip would realise that with a 3 am text, it implicitly wasn’t safe for him to ring or text back. She remained stock still next to Roarke, plotting her next move, she knew that Rip would bring the cavalry, she needed to bide her time and trust that Rip would come to the rescue.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roarke awoke with a satisfying yawn, he could scarcely remember ever feeling this refreshed and was pleasantly surprised to find Beth snuggled next to him. The morning light streaming in the window, casted a warming glow on the bed, he could see a blackening eye peaking through her tousled hair, its sickening colour blossoming overnight. He felt a possessive surge of protectiveness towards his bedmate, which melted away his smug smirk. He rolled over on the bed trying not to disturb his sleeping charge. He had slept in his clothes he decided that freshing up would make him feel even better and then he’d tend to Beth’s needs. As he swept up his fallen wallet and phone into his pocket, he noticed that Beth was watching him with sleepy eyes. “You rescued me from Jamie, I never said thank you”, the demure way she sucked on her split lip was childishly endearing. The low groan that she expelled while holding her head, had Roarke race back to her bedside completely disregarding all other plans. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry my head is just so sore. I’m not really sure what is happening” her little-girl voice the epitome of innocent confusion. She frowned at her dishevelled appearance, dirty from her escape yesterday then casting her confused eyes questioningly back to her captor.  “It’s okay, Freckles. It’s all gonna be ok” Roarke smiled reassuringly. He placed a hand paternalistically on Beth’s knee, “Why don’t we get you cleaned up. I’ll run you a bath”. He propped Beth into a seated position and was again gratified when Beth allowed the contact to linger.</p>
<p>Roarke readied the bath, worried about leaving his patient unattended for too long, he cast furtive glances from the master bathroom, watching as Beth investigated each injury. He could tell she was flexing her bandaged feet hidden by the bed covers. He was satisfied despite last night’s head injury she seemed to be acting lucidly. He noted happily that she wasn’t looking for an exit, her current behaviour was a stark contrast to the footage he observed on her first concious morning in his house. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to enjoy reliving the current events later, as his own room wasn’t wired with hidden cameras.</p>
<p>“Freckles can you make it to the bathroom?”, his voice beckoned her, but the bathroom suddenly seemed an insurmountable distance away. Beth had resolved to curry favour with her captor but she also knew that she needed to keep him occupied. Beth gingerly moved to a fully seated position, dangling her legs attempting to muster the courage to place her weight on her abused feet and walk into the wolf’s lair in the bathroom. </p>
<p>Roarke continued to draw the bath, adding a layer of fruity scented bubbles on the surface. Beth sat behind him on the closed toilet-seat, her eyes closed trying to collect her thoughts, she needed to bide her time until Rip could come to the rescue, crucially she marshalled her emotions for the indignities to come.  “Em, can I get some help please” Beth’s entreaty made it clear she was struggling to remove her dirty wrap with her sore shoulder, she watched Roarke’s guilty expression that accompanied his prompt offer of help. He guided her into the deep bathtub. In other circumstances she would have found the opportunity to bathe heavenly, but she was cagey about needing to keep her main captor close.  She couldn’t afford Roarke and Jamie getting any further with their plans for the Dutton ranch, she might not be able to divide and conquer yet, but she knew she could keep Roarke occupied in the short-term.</p>
<p>Roarke had changed into fresh clothes and was picking out Beth’s outfit when he heard her call out, the sound of her voice calling to him, saying his actual name was beyond gratifying. It lured him back into the bathroom without a second thought. She looked at him plaintively, once again asking for his help due to her abused shoulder. He was careful and respectful as he slowly sponged those hard to reach places on Beth’s back.  He watched her take deep relaxed breaths enjoying the hot water. He noted how her breath hitched when he traced the sponge over her sore left side, if the current level of compliance continued he’d arrange for a doctor once his dealings with Jamie were complete. “Could you wash my hair?”, her request was simple but she knew it would gratify a foppish idiot like Roarke and importantly keep him busy and within her orbit. </p>
<p>He shampooed her hair into a mass of foam his fingers massaging her scalp gently, the cloying sweet smell of the toiletries overloaded Beth’s senses. “Do you like it?” Roarke enquired before launching into great detail about the trouble and expense he went to sourcing such exotic lotions. Feigning interest, Beth allowed Roarke to prattle on until he finally washed away the smelly concoction with the nearby shower-head. Beth continued to meditate with deep breaths trying to keep her anger and tension at bay and concentrate on her plan.</p>
<p>In short order, Beth was swaddled in blankets and wrapped in a hideous pink fluffy bathrobe, after changing the bandages on her feet, Roarke proceeded to paint Beth’s toenails and fingernails, enjoying the opportunity to spoil his houseguest, oblivious to Beth’s disregard for this vacuous pampering. She was having a hard time keeping her emotions in check, trying not to cringe at each perverse idea Roarke suggested. She channeled her unhappiness into bad-mouthing Jamie, finding Roarke receptive to her revisionist pretence that Roarke was her knight in shining armour protecting her against the dastardly Jamie, expertly stroking her captor’s ego while laying on her distressed damsel routine thickly.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once Roarke had finished with all the preening, Beth felt like a Stepford-wife, it felt vaguely violating that Roarke had a closet-full of shoes and clothes perfectly tailored for her. She appreciated that Rip accepted her authentic self, warts and all. On the other hand, Roarke wanted to change her, mould her into something fake like the photos she saw in his   hallway. Her assessment was reinforced by the outfit he had chosen; a ’50s style Lucille Ball number, the buttons she’d struggle to reach, tied her uncomfortably tight from behind, the similarly tight sleeves pressing on her bruised shoulder.  Roarke ran an unbidden hand through her bangs, drinking in the sight in front of him, he appreciated the unintended consequence of her hair swept up in a messy bun now gave him fuller access to Beth’s face, he pecked a kiss on her good cheek “How about breakfast in bed for my best girl?” deploying his smuggest smile. </p>
<p>Roarke did not like the way Beth cringed back suddenly all tense and scared, he had worked so hard to overpower her natural defences, he had spent the morning mollycoddling her, he would not accept defiance now. Before he could resort to chemical controls, Beth had flung herself fully and unexpectedly into his arms. Through the histrionics of her sobs he caught the gist of her unhappiness, it was centred on the thought of being left alone with the spectre of Jamie loose in the house. </p>
<p>Beth allowed Roarke to cradle her, knowing this would stroke his overinflated ego. Her smile was unseen as she shed crocodile tears into her captor’s waiting arms; she reflected how predictable men were. It took her a minute to school her features sufficiently into a masquerade of concern, angling her black eye towards him under the canopy of her fringe for increased effect. “What if he hurts you this time? What if he tries to keep us apart… once he has what he wants?”. Beth knew she had a talent for sowing discord, dealing with a malignant narcissist like Roarke meant she could deploy butterfly-effect mind games to enact the tornado she once promised him. </p>
<p>Roarke savoured her use of word ‘us’, if he hadn’t watched the words emanate from her own split lip , he’d have scarcely believed she said it. In a sick twisted way, he could see the logic in what he had to do next. He had proved to Beth he loved her and now he had to prove what he was willing to do for their relationship. It was true that Jamie was the only one privy to Beth’s continued residence here, in essence Jamie was a loose end and loose ends needed to be tidied up and with Beth onside he no longer needed the elder Dutton for the land deal.</p>
<p>“Beth. Sweetie please, you know I’d never let anyone hurt you”. He continued stroking her hair hoping that her sobbing would dissipate with his promises of protection reiterating the fact that Jamie was essentially locked out of the way in her old room.</p>
<p>The ensuing silence unmanned Roarke, goading him to reinforce the idea that he was Beth’s protector by forceful taking action. Roarke grabbed his laptop from his bedside locker. He coaxed Beth to look at its bright screen. It showed her the video feed of her previous prison-room now occupied by a pacing Jamie. Beth’s shocked exhalation was a genuine reaction, she prayed that Roarke would interpret this as continued terror, rather than her incredulity that Roarke had the means of observing everything that was happening in the spare room. </p>
<p>“Freckles, stay here, you can watch me sort Jamie out”.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beth could hardly believe her luck, after days of isolation, she had access to a laptop. She silently cursed Rip’s dumb-phone, it was not like her man would be able to pick up an email or tweet from her now. Rationally Beth knew any electronic measures she used from now on, would leave a potentially unwanted paper-trail that she would need to account for.</p><p>She watched fascinated at the calm before the storm on the laptop screen, as a bored Jamie absentmindedly checked his phone, frowning at his latest text message, followed by Roarke exploding into the room in dramatic fashion. The absence of sound from the video was almost inconsequential, as a keen observer of human nature Beth could see the violence was escalating out of control, whatever barbs the two sparring men traded were lost in a flurry of their blows. Roarke tackled her brother to the ground almost immediately. Beth mused that sending Jamie that text message may have given him a brief warning but it wasn’t out of any love Beth held for her brother, given their history (both recent and ancient) she didn’t particularly care what happened to him, he was a useful pawn to sacrifice for her escape. Her intention was to make it an even fight, allowing her captors to knock lumps out of each other and soften each of them up ahead of Rips arrival.</p><p>She watched both bodies wrestle on the ground, neither opponent gaining the upper hand, a tangle of hands and feet landing only semi-effectual blows, neither of these fuckers would last 5 minutes in her favourite bar. She transferred the recent video footage to one of her burner accounts. Not wanting to let a further opportunity for revenge allude her, Beth also logged into Roarke’s brokerage account arranging some very dubious long-trades, that she’d short when Rip got her home, she’d happily inflict financial damage on Roarke's company to mess up any planned land deals with a financial low blow.</p><p>With her sabotage complete, Beth enjoyed returning her attentions to the ongoing fight, she could see that Roarke had squandered the early advantage of surprise, Jamie straddled him raining down punches until with one blocked punch Roarke reversed the scenario, grabbing Jamie’s hair and landing a swift elbow to her brother’s exposed jaw. Beth cast an appraising eye over the two combatants trying to gauge who the eventual winner might be, from the current demonstration it was clear Rip would easy best both of them.  Beth was pretty sure she could have held her own in a fair fight if she wasn’t already injured, but Beth had no intention of fighting fair.</p><p>Beth was a woman of action, although she’d like to see Jamie and Roarke finish each other off, she doubted either truly had the clear advantage to swiftly and decisively deal a fatal blow to their fellow fighter. She wasn’t about to wait passively for the winner, with a quick change of clothes she was almost ready to face her tormentors. She struggled to open Roarke’s pill bottle, but thought half a pill would numb the pain in her feet and shoulder to allow her to enact the trickiest part of her plan.</p><p>Neither man acknowledged her presence as she entered the room looking suitable wild and injured wearing last night’s dirty wrap dress, each man too engrossed in their fight, trading blows wildly. Beth had originally contemplated locking her jailers in this room and setting the house alight but figured that might lead to too many red flags for the inevitable police investigation, besides this was personal to her and she felt like revenge would be a dish best served in person.</p><p>With a swing any batter would be proud of Beth walloped Roarke’s head with his own laptop, hearing a satisfying crunching noise on connection, aerodynamically it was less satisfying than an 8 pound ashtray but after a few well placed swings she was satisfied her kidnapper was going to stay down, her abused shoulder the main hinderance to continuing her violence. She deliberately stepped on his crotch to ensure Roarke was not feigning unconsciousness, she’d seen too many movies to take that chance. </p><p>Mindful that cameras might still be rolling despite Roarke’s laptop being put beyond use, Beth play-acted for some additional footage if the police got too nosey about the scenario she was engineering. With concern and kindness she didn’t feel she tended to Jamie’s abused face. Her cover story of trying to protect her brother from psycho Roarke appeared to be more or less iron-clad, the message she sent from Roarke’s computer to Jamie’s phone would reinforce her story that Roarke had malice &amp; forethought in attacking her brother with intent to kill. The video and text logs would corroborate this fiction nicely. The bizarro picture shrine to her in the hallway and her own testimony would similarly provide a slam-dunk case for Roarke’s guilt as a kidnapper. Roarke and Roarke’s company would no longer be a threat to her own safety or her family's livelihood.</p><p>It was simple to coax a bloodied and disorientated Jamie from their former prison cell, with great satisfaction she locked the door behind them imprisoning the unconscious Roarke. She helped her sibling into the kitchen, away from the cameras it would have been easy to inflict some further injuries on her hated brother, but she figured Jamie was essentially screwed once anyone from the Dutton ranch got their hands on him, Beth smiled at the irony, the warning message she had sent from Roarke’s computer told Jamie he was a deadman walking, it was fitting that his future would be in the hands of John Dutton, a fate a million times worse then posturing fisticuffs with a stockbroker.</p><p>She subdued him easily with the same sedation that Roarke had used on her during her own incarceration. Jamie gratefully lapped up the drugged glass of water she offered unaware or maybe uncaring of the oblivion that awaited him. A tox screen would show they had similar drugs in their system but Beth made sure to dose Jamie into incomprehension.   As she waited for the arrival of her would-be rescuers, she took the opportunity to let Rip and her father know she had the situation under control with a brief phone call from Jamie’s phone. Once given the all clear from her father, the last element in her plan was dialling 911. She delivered the coup de grace, in a teary victim’s call, which would seal Roarke’s fate and get Jamie compassionate leave from his State AG role.  </p><p>Beth waited on-guard until she could hear the telltale sound of a helicopter break the monotony of silence. She let her father watch the unconscious Jamie,  once Dutton Sr was satisfied his only daughter was a little sore but ultimately ok. While Beth was touched by the elder Dutton's concern she had eyes only for Rip,  she could see the big man melting in relief when the made eye contact, for the first time in a while she felt truly safe. She smiled her mischievous grin, the one she reserved just for him, as he enveloped her in his warm embrace and called her Wife. This close contact was a balm after the injuries, drugs and days of gaslighting she endured. Now, she just wanted to cut loose, the nervous energy gnawing away at her in anticipation of giving the police her formal statement to complete her plan.  She was pretty sure from Rip’s demeanour, if left unattended he’d rip Roarke and Jamie limb from limb; not caring about the impending arrival of every law agency in Montana concerned for the State AG and a salacious case that would make headlines for days to come. Beth knew fucking Rip on Roarke’s bed wasn’t the maturest course of action, but damn it felt good. It felt real and it felt right.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nickname of Freckles shamelessly stolen from the writers of Lost<br/>Keeping things ambiguous for the sake of the story.... I'm aiming for a bit of suspense and enjoying it, but obviously consent is key and taking advantage of anyone in a vulnerable situation is not cool.<br/>Violence and threats of violence occur in later chapters.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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